Birds That Fly Above the Wind
by Ceri Moriarty
Summary: After the world doesn't end, not quite, Roderich speaks only through music and Gilbert only through tropes. Maybe, just maybe, they can overcome their communication difficulties and learn to work together. PruAus, post-apocalyptic.


_a/n: Happy New Year's, everyone! Let's do our best for 2012!_

_Anyway, posting this after I finished it a few days ago. This was supposed to be a NaNo idea, but when I started writing it, it ended up much shorter than that. Sorry about the run-on sentences, nonsensical plot, and possible OOC-ness._

_I haven't written Hetalia fic in a while; I've been busy with BBC Sherlock. Sorry about that._

_Mihai is Romania, btw. I quite like him. :D_

_I've found post-apocalyptic fic is interesting and fun. I'll probably not write more of it, though._

_None of these characters are mine, although I would love a copy of Romania's hat._

* * *

><p>Often, the days that contain the most dramatic happenings start out perfectly ordinary. It is not infrequent that disaster will strike with little to no warning whatsoever. There is an expression to describe such a phenomenon—a "bolt from the blue", it's called.<p>

So it is that on a Thursday in May, one such bolt from the blue strikes. Every wallscreen in every flat, all around the world, flickers on to display the same picture: a young man with brown hair and red eyes, wearing a long coat and a small bowler hat with ribbons hanging off of it.

"Greetings," he says. He speaks in Commonspeak, the invented language that's nobody's mother tongue but is required learning in all schools, by order of the Government. "My name is Mihai. I am here to tell you that life as you knew it is over. The Government is no more. Instead, you have me." He smiles a shark-grin that bares too many teeth. "There are going to be some changes around here."

And there are. Just a day or so later, there are soldiers everywhere, not exactly doing anything, just standing with their laser rifles up and the visors on their helmets down.

The Internet breaks down a few days later, with the cell phone network following not long after that.

It doesn't take long for cities to become utterly isolated from each other, after that. Actual face-to-face conversation, which used to be a rarity, becomes more frequent. Travel becomes more difficult—gasoline gets rarer, and soon a trip that used to take mere hours has days or weeks between departure and arrival.

And then all the lights go out because there's no one working the power-plants and no fuel to work with anyway. It's startling, how quickly things return to a much earlier time when there's no more power.

Observing it all are the faceless, nameless soldiers and their employer, Mihai, whose communication and transportation networks seem to be in tip-top shape.

The use of Commonspeak decreases and people start resorting to their native languages for communication.

Well, some do. For some, the shock of this new world is too much, and they lose speech entirely or partially, forced to find other ways to express themselves.

Roderich Edelstein retreats into his music. First, always first and foremost, there is his beloved piano. He's always found emotions easier to express emotions through music than through words, so this new development really isn't that much of a surprise or even a disadvantage. The piano is unwieldy, however, so he takes to humming phrases and lines from his favourite pieces, frustrated by the inability to sing more than one note at a time. He manages, however, even when he is forced to leave his home after a disagreement with his family. There's nothing left for him in his home city of Vienna, in the province of Austria (countries and nations haven't existed for years, now—the Government takes care of everything), so he sets out to wander in hope of finding something. He's not sure what that something is yet, but he'll know it when he sees it.

Gilbert Beilschmidt hasn't left his brother's basement or even spoken to another person in years. He lived on the Internet, before everything, and only communicated through text messages, chats, forum posts, and comments on his blog. When all of that disappears and the comfortable distance from the world vanishes, he resorts to speaking, in a voice rusty from disuse, in phrases from TVTropes, the website that ate hours and hours of his time—he's familiar with most of the common ones, and they suffice for saying nearly anything. His brother kicks him out a few days later, tired of putting up with him, and he finds himself with nowhere to go, surrounded by real people who aren't just faceless lines of text, and it's too much for him. He panics and starts to run, flinching away from each brush of contact, not thinking about where he might be going, only knowing that he has to get away from the overload.

Then he collides with another person, one who's staring up at the nighttime sky (you can't see the stars anymore, they haven't been visible in years, and you can forget the moon or sun), and the two of them tumble to the road in a tangle of limbs.

"Crash Into Hello," Gilbert observes.

Roderich blinks up at him, startled by this odd-looking person. He hums a questioning phrase, and it sounds like _what's your name?_

Gilbert fishes a scrap of paper with his name on it out of his pocket and offers it to this new person.

Roderich takes it, reads it, then takes a pencil from his pocket, adds his own name to the paper, and hands it back. He hums a brief phrase—it's chaotic, strange—and indicates that it's meant for his new acquaintance.

Gilbert grins, guessing that the phrase is meant to be his name in music. "Megane," he says, pointing at Roderich.

Roderich smiles and nods, accepting the name as his own. He hums a snatch of music—this time cool and composed, in a delicate minor key—and indicates himself. He quirks an eyebrow at Gilbert and hums the questioning phrase he used before again.

"Crazy Awesome," Gilbert says proudly.

With introductions conducted, the two of them decide—mostly through hand-gestures, but also through tropes and snatches of music—to go, as it were, together. In this new-old world, it works better to have a partner or group—"Nakama," as Gilbert says, and Roderich would call it _polyphony_, two melodies that sound better together than they do apart.

Finding a place to stay in the city they finally settle down in—it's on the northwestern edge of Austria, near the province-border with Germany—is more difficult than either one of them anticipates. Their limited methods of communication frustrate them time and time again, both individually and as a pair. Gilbert expresses his frustration through hissed tropes, imprecations against everyone who doesn't understand plain speaking. Roderich plays his violin, which he brought from home, scraping the bow angrily across the strings, occasionally dropping from fury into mournful, lonely pieces, swooping and diving like the birds that are becoming more frequent nowadays.

Finding work isn't terribly difficult, though—easier than they thought it might be—since a lot of jobs have opened up, now that there's no electricity to run things. Gilbert works as a bicycle-cab driver—they've become more popular and prolific since fuel ran out, and the fares he earns are enough to supply his half of the rent on the little flat they finally manage to find. Roderich works as a cleaner, a good one, and he frequently comes home with his hands red from scrubbing, but it's decent work and it pays the rent, so he doesn't mind.

Things aren't perfect. Gilbert still can't stand any kind of physical contact, not the slightest brush, and if Roderich spends more than half a day without some form of music, he panics. The faceless soldiers have become more numerous, standing motionless on every street-corner, but the wildlife has also increased in quantity—grass starts appearing in the cracks in the roads, flowers pop up everywhere, and birds fill the sky, dipping and soaring above the wind.

The good things almost equal the bad ones, Roderich thinks, humming an optimistic tune while on his way home from work. So far, the takeover of the Government has been benign, if not beneficial. Mihai hasn't done any of the things expected of an Overlord.

Then Roderich comes home to an empty flat, clear signs of a struggle, and a note on the kitchen table.

_Megane—_

_ Big Brother Is Always Watching. Dystopia. Not So Harmless._

_ —Crazy Awesome_

In an instant, Roderich understands. Gilbert's been taken by Mihai's soldiers—the purpose and destination are unknown.

Another instant, and Roderich decides that he's going to find Gilbert and bring him back, no matter what it takes. He's whistling a determined march as he packs a knapsack to take with him. He has no idea where he's going to start, but he figures he should begin soon.

His inability to speak in words makes making enquiries into Gilbert's disappearance very difficult, but he manages with the help of a blank notebook and a pen. The trail sends him across all of what is slowly reforming into Hungary, deep into what used to be the province of Romania. Eventually, he arrives at a tiny little shack—a local tells him that four of Mihai's soldiers dragged an unconscious prisoner in there the day before.

"Looked pretty banged-up," the local says in Commonspeak because Roderich doesn't understand Romanian and the local doesn't speak German. "Breathing, though."

Roderich's heart squeezes when he hears that description. He spends half an hour improvising on the violin, and it's all slow, melancholy, but in a major key—Gilbert is still alive, after all. There's still hope that they'll both manage to get away from this tiny village.

After he's poured his heart into the violin, Roderich makes a battle plan and puts it into action.

Sneaking in is ridiculously easy. Finding Gilbert is slightly less so, but Roderich still manages. Sneaking out is doable, and barely two hours after the plan begins, the two of them are on their way home. Once they're a decent distance away, Roderich grabs Gilbert by the shoulders and kisses him in relief. He backs away immediately afterwards, blushing bright pink, and whistles a short, embarrassed apology.

"I Uh You Too," Gilbert reassures him, tugging him back in for another kiss.

Dawn is just breaking, and the sun is almost peeping out from behind the great clouds of pollution that are slowly starting to disperse after weeks with nothing to add to them. Birds flutter all around, darting, diving, coasting, flying above the wind.

Things still aren't perfect. Gilbert and Roderich still have some difficulties communicating exact details and specifics, especially to other people. The faceless, nameless soldiers are still everywhere. There's still no electricity and travel is difficult.

But they'll make the best of it, and fly above the wind, because that's what birds (and people) do.


End file.
